Auld Lang Syne
by Child of a Broken Dawn
Summary: Wednesday and Lucas had not planned to spend their first New Year's Eve as a married couple at a yawn-inducing company gala. But when old flames reappear, boredom will be the least of their worries. Based primarily on the musical and Addams Family Values.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, dear readers, here's the complicated tale of ALS. I discovered the Addams Family musical via YouTube the weekend before NaNoWriMo was to start. As you can guess, it took the steampunk fantasy novel I'd planned to write and forced it to jump out a high window at crossbow-point. So I decided to make this story nominally my NaNo project. I doubt it'll have the staying power for 50,000 words, but I'm more concerned about having fun than winning. And this branch of TAF fandom needs more love. Without further ado, on to the story!

(I do not own any incarnation of The Addams Family or any characters thereof.)

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><p>"Remind me again <em>what<em> this event is?"

Lucas sighed, having failed once more to straighten his tie.

"It's a New Year's gala that Dad's company holds every year, for employees and their families. I've been going since last year."

"Fine," his wife replied, delicately touching up her burgundy lipstick. "But I have to go because…?" She tugged at the skirt of her dress where it bunched oddly on her right leg. "This isn't exactly my thing- to put it mildly."

"You have to go because Dad wants to show off the fact that I succeeded at something for once. I'm pretty sure they had a betting pool going on whether I'd ever manage to sucker a woman into marrying me," he said.

Crossing to the mahogany dressing-table, he placed his hands on Wednesday's hips and turned her to face him. She glanced at his tie, and her lips quirked up in a smirk.

"I think the tie's winning again, love."

As she set it to rights, his hands trailed downward, over the curve of her hips, to her upper thighs- and stopped. He felt the still-bunched black silk, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Di, what's…" he trailed off, realizing the answer to his unspoken question.

"A thigh sheath? Really?"

"Is that a problem?" she asked in a deceptively calm voice. After two years of dating and one of marriage, Lucas knew that his wife was at her most dangerous when she used that tone. And after two years of dating and one of marriage, he also knew that he would like nothing better than to push her past the danger zone.

But not now. Not when they had somewhere to be. Business before pleasure, after all.

"Nope," he said, releasing her and stepping back. "No way I'd ask you to go into the hyenas' den unarmed."

She turned back to the mirror, running a brush through her dark hair. "Oh, speaking of bets, tell my brother next time you see him that he owes Father five dollars."

"Oh?" Lucas asked, "Why?"

Wednesday sighed and put down the brush. "You weren't the only one people had bets on."

He shot her a sympathetic look, and they resumed their preparations in silence. Some time later, he spoke again.

"Just to warn you, one of Dad's business partners is bringing his latest trophy wife. Some blonde bimbo about our age, if the last one was anything to go by. If you decide to cut her throat, try to do it discreetly."

"Can I just ignore her? I don't want to get my best stiletto dirty."

"Well, there's always blunt force trauma."

Wednesday slipped her arm through his and they descended the stairs, laughing.

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><p>"I'm sorry?"<p>

Amanda Krueger was not having a good evening. First, Jim had dragged her to this thing without even giving her a chance to get a new dress. Then, that total _slut_ Tiffany had shown up with new D-cups that must have cost a fortune. And now Lucas Beineke, safe Lucas, silly Lucas, the one ex-boyfriend she could always count on to never have a better offer…

"I said, Amanda, permit me to introduce my wife."

The pallid, black-clad woman beside him extended her hand, with a smile that had haunted Amanda's nightmares for seven years. It wasn't a smile of genuine happiness. It said that the owner was going to destroy her and enjoy doing it.

"I'm Wednesday. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Oh, she'd known. She'd known from the moment Lucas had called her and Jim over to be introduced. The stupid braids were gone, and puberty had done its work (_not badly_, she grudgingly admitted), but that was one face Amanda would never forget.

She squared her shoulders and shook Wednesday's hand. "Amanda; likewise. I'd heard Lucas had gotten married, but not to whom. It's lovely to finally meet the lucky girl."

"Oh no," Lucas interjected, "I'm the lucky one." As he tilted his wife's face upwards and kissed her, Amanda fumed silently.

_She_ was happily married; _she_ had a husband without love handles and hemorrhoids and hair plugs. Amanda, for all her blonde hair, golden skin, and spectacular breasts, was on the arm of a 60-year-old, and this freaky _bitch_ got some great romance.

More than that, Wednesday had taken something of hers. Not that she wanted Lucas back; their four months of high school dating had left her sure of that. But it had been nice to have him hovering around the outskirts of her mind, ready to be mocked and dismissed with a pat on the head. One more scalp on her belt, as it were.

_And for all these reasons_, she thought, grinning smugly at the brunette's retreating back, _I have decided to seduce your husband._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Guess how much I don't own this?

Soooooo much! :D

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><p>Amanda Kreuger was a woman on a mission. The universe had been completely upended, and it was her job to do justice and restore some semblance of normalcy.<p>

Her fingers flew across the touch pad as she strode purposefully toward the ladies' room door, dialing the number that would provide her with vital backup. Leaning against the faux-marble countertop, she listened impatiently to the buzzing rings.

At last, her prayers were answered. "Melissa Cartwright," chirped a perky voice on the other end.

"Listen, Missy, I need your help. I'm at the company gala- yeah, Jim's thing. I _told_ you it was tonight! Yes! But I- oh my gawd, _shut up_ and listen. I was just standing there and Beineke came over with his son. Yeah, Lucas," –she laughed- "Gawd. Yes. _Such_ a puppy dog. And kind of cute, too. Anyway, so Lucas comes over and introduces- get this- his _wife_."

Amanda held the phone at arm's length until the agitated squealing on the other end ceased.

"Oh, it's someone we know, alright. But you won't be happy about it. Remember how we used to go to Camp Chippewa together? Right. Yeah, those were great times. Remember how that one freaky girl burned it down in- yep, that's what I thought. Sorry, I know. I know! I have nightmares, too! I said I was sorry!"

"It has _everything_ to do with Lucas being married. Guess. Who. His. Wife. Is."

More squealing. Amanda rubbed at her ear and glared daggers at a teenage girl who'd run, laughing, into the bathroom. As the confused girl left, she continued, "And the worst part is that…well, she kind of turned hot somewhere along the line. Oh my gawd, it's _disgusting_. She's wearing this backless halter dress and really slutty-looking lipstick- here, I'll send you a picture."

More chatter from the phone. The blonde frowned and put her hand on her hip.

"Yes, I'm sure it's the same person. Like I said, nightmares. Now hold on while I send this."

She twiddled a few buttons on the screen; the phone made a whooshing sound. Tossing her long hair, she held the tiny appliance to her ear again.

"Did you get it? Okay. Okay. I _know_, right? I mean, it's like, top ten things you didn't see coming. Wh- no, it's not stalker-y! I had to document this! And she's just all over him. I mean, who does she think she is? He's _mine_! Well, okay, not really mine, but… it's like that courtly love thing we had to study in high school. Yeah, exactly."

"So here's what I need from you," Amanda continued, examining her flawless makeup in the mirror. "Call Lucas' phone- I know you have the number- and try to get him away from the crowd. I don't know; say you can't hear him or something. Missy, do I have to think of everything? Just make sure he's on his own, and then call me back."

Laughing, she leaned back against the counter and twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"What am I up to? If only you knew, Missy. If only you knew."

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><p>Lucas Beineke was staring at a goddess. Her skin like ivory, her hair like a midnight sky, her eyes soulful and dark as a still lake at moonrise, her expression deep in thought. Any minute now, she would open her lovely mouth and say-<p>

"Lucas, how much dynamite do you think it would take to blow this place to kingdom come?"

_God, I love her._ And silver ring that glinted on her left hand said that this glory, this radiance, was his forever.

"Lucas? Lucas?"

A high-heeled shoe connected with his leg under the table, jolting him back to reality. He winced and rubbed the newborn bruise, giving his wife a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Di. Was I staring at you in abject worship again?"

She shook her head in fond exasperation. "It's a bad habit," she said with a sidelong glance at him. "You leave yourself wide open to attack."

"Well," he whispered, leaning forward and cocking one eyebrow, "if you and that stiletto have any ideas…"

A hungry look entered her eyes as a smile crept, devious and deadly, across her face.

"Oh, do we ever."

He leaned forward across the snowy tablecloth, lips involuntary parting in anticipation- only to have her gently push him away.

"However, you and I _are_ in the middle of a crowded hotel ballroom. With your father on his way back from getting drinks. And some people just don't understand the word 'consent.' Besides," she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "I need time to think of another place where the scars won't show."

Lucas sat back, still feeling her breath on his skin and her hair tickling his cheek. He sighed heavily and took her black-gloved hand.

"Diana mine, this party can't end soon enough."

She began to respond, but shut her mouth again as Mal bustled over clutching three flutes of champagne. He sat down, mopping the sweat from his brow and loosening the collar of his shirt.

"Wow, what a line! Hope you two haven't been bored all by yourselves," he panted. As he shifted in the too-small plastic chair, Wednesday found herself idly wondering if the weight was properly distributed on Lucas' seat. One well-placed, seemingly accidental kick on her way to the bathroom, and they'd have their excuse to leave. She began to eye the spindly white legs-

-and was interrupted when her husband abruptly stood. He turned to her, bowed, and held out his hand.

"Madam, may I have this dance?"

"You know I don't…" she trailed off, really listening to the rather mediocre string quartet for the first time that night. They were sawing away at what could charitably be called a tango.

"**You don't dance? Not at all?"**

**She was talking to this boy, this **_**Lucas**_** that she'd met three months ago. She was talking to a boy, and she was sixteen and afraid. They were sitting by the swamp, just out of sight of the Addams mansion and he had whimsically asked her to dance.**

"**Well…" she stared fixedly at the bubbling black ooze, determined not to look at him. This was heading in an alien and possibly dangerous direction.**

"**Mother did insist I learn to tango."**

**He looked pointedly at her, hand still outstretched, eyebrows raised. Biting her lip, she stood and placed her hand in his.**

She stood and placed her hand in his. He smiled, made a token attempt to smooth his hair, and turned to Mal.

"Dad, do you mind?"

The realtor waved his hand. "No, you youngsters go dance the night away. I'll just sit here and rest my ancient bones for a while," he said, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Suddenly, he glanced nervously at Wednesday.

"And that was a figure of speech, young lady."

With a dry chuckle, she patted his arm. "Don't worry, Mal, I know."

Lucas looked expectantly at her. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing grandly with his free hand.

But before they'd gone three steps from the table, his jacket began to vibrate. He frowned and rummaged around in the tuxedo's inner pocket, finally extricating his cell phone from the silver silk lining.

"The number doesn't look familiar," he said, "but it could be someone from work." He let go of Wednesday's hand.

"Love, do you mind?"

She wordlessly shook her head. As he walked toward the door, she returned to her seat next to Mal.

After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, "So, any chance I'll ever have grandchildren?"

Wednesday bit her tongue and prayed that Lucas would get back soon.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ownership- I no can has it. Also, this is where it starts counting for my NaNo. Yay!

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><p>"Excuse me? Melissa <em>who<em>?"

Lucas Beineke walked briskly toward the relatively quiet hallway of the Marriott, casting more than one longing glance over his shoulder at his wife. The young woman sat stiffly across from Lucas' father, looking as if she'd have liked to strangle him. She probably would, too.

But none of this was of any concern to the Shadowy Figure, watching from the distant hors d'oeurves bar. All that mattered to him was that Lucas was safely out of the way.

Earlier in the evening, his heart had pounded so hard he'd thought it would burst from his chest; now, however, he was almost eerily calm. The path ahead was clear, and he could hardly back out. He took what he fancied to be a roguish bite of a celery stick.

_It's time to set things right_, he thought, straightening his scarlet cravat. He had to be brave- faint heart never won fair lady, after all.

But she'd be his from the moment their eyes met. He could picture hers widening, those dark orbs filling with surprised remembrance, as if seeing a beloved ghost stride from the mists of the past. Surely she would fall, swooning, into his arms at that first sight.

True love had once been theirs. And didn't they say that love conquered all?

Dramatically plucking a celery thread from between his teeth, he strode toward the fated table.

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><p>In an out-of-the-way hall, Lucas waited for his cell phone to shut up.<p>

He'd been holding the damn thing at arm's length for nearly fifteen minutes, and _still_ whatever bimbo was on the other end kept talking. Around Minute Five of her chatter, he'd given up trying to explain that he didn't know any Melissa Cartwright. By Minute Ten, he'd stopped offering even monosyllabic replies.

Now he was on the verge of firing off a text to Wednesday, begging to borrow the plastic explosives in her handbag.

He wondered how she was getting on. An uneasy truce had been called between his wife and father, though he privately suspected that each party still detested the other. Wednesday and Alice seemed to tolerate each other, and Lucas' mother was always careful not to leave her daughter-in-law alone with Mal for very long.

_But she did promise to behave_, he thought, idly shifting the phone to his other hand and stretching his stiff arm. _ And maybe this woman will hang up soon. If the band plays another tango…_

A zeppelin flown by Elvis Presley could have crashed through the ceiling and disgorged a conga line of deceased presidents right in front of him, and it wouldn't have jolted Lucas from his reverie. In his mind, he was already sweeping his wife across the dance floor, dipping and turning and feeling her lithe body pressed against him. And then she removed that stiletto from under her skirt, and-

"A-_hem_." The mysterious throat-clearer tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and was met with a vision of feminine beauty.

A tall young woman stood there, gazing at him with slightly quizzical blue eyes. Her hair fell to her waist in a shimmering waterfall of pale gold. A hot pink satin gown clung to every curve of her movie-star figure, revealing just enough of her smooth, lightly tanned skin. Her makeup was flawless, and she moved in a cloud of a floral perfume he couldn't name.

_This is usually the part of the nightmare where she grabs my arm and calls me "hubby," _Lucas thought, glancing around for the nearest escape route.

The woman's eyes widened in melodramatic shock. "Oh my gawd, _Lucas_? I'm sorry; I didn't know it was you!" She stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm.

"You've just changed so much over the years. I wouldn't have recognized you back at the party, if your dad hadn't introduced us. You're so much taller, and- hey, have you been working out?"

He sighed heavily, eyes narrowed, and shook her hand off.

"Amanda, you are the least subtle seductress- hell, the least subtle _human being_- I know. And I think the real question here is not whether you recognized me, but my wife."

"Your wife?" she asked, the feigned surprise doubling in intensity. "But I've never even-"

Lucas rounded on her. "Yes, you have," he said. "She told me all about how you two met. And may I say that it's very mature of you, trying to break up a marriage over a silly, summer camp feud."

As he returned his phone to his pocket and started to walk away, Amanda's mind raced. She couldn't let this opportunity slip away. There had to be something she could say to hold his interest, something shocking, something like-

"She burned the camp down."

Amanda clapped her be-ringed hands to her mouth, looking for all the world as if the words had slipped out against her will. Lucas stopped in his tracks and half-turned towards her.

"What?"

_Ooh, now it's getting good_. Trying her best to sound overcome, the blonde continued, "The whole place, leveled in a day. It was your wife and her little gang of delinquents who did it. They burned the camp, and tied me up, and she almost _killed_ me, Lucas, it was awful! I really thought I was about to burn at the stake! And I never did _anything_ to her!"

With a gasp, she rushed up to him and buried her face in his shirt. Her shoulders shook with patently false sobs.

"Oh, Lucas! I still have nightmares! I had to tell you, because I- I couldn't bear for you to not know what you married!"

She raised her eyes- surprisingly, wet with genuine tears- to his.

"Lucas," she said breathlessly, "You were my best friend, and not a day goes by that I've not regretted what I did to you. After all these years, you're still the only man I've ever trusted."

She slowly raised her face level with his, standing on tiptoe so that their lips were inches apart.

"The only man I've ever trusted. The only man who's ever understood me. The only man I've ever…loved."

Before he had time to react, she pressed her mouth to his. The soft thud of something hitting the industrial carpet a split second later, made both of them look up.

"Oh my god."

It wasn't a shout or a snarl, but the quiet and completely emotionless exclamation of the black-clad brunette standing in the doorway caused Lucas more fear than any angry yelling could. He began frantically trying to shake Amanda off, but it was too late. Without another word, his wife turned and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews! I don't own anything that originated in Charles Addams' mind or married, dated, hated, or met something that did.

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><p>Wednesday Addams wanted to kill something.<p>

This in and of itself was not an unusual occurrence- she spent most days wanting to kill something. But most days that 'something' wasn't her father-in-law, and she wasn't sitting in the heavily decorated ballroom of a Marriot hotel.

She bit the inside of her cheek again; the taste of blood calmed her somewhat. As she gazed absently at the swathes of white gauze and gold twinkle lights, she realized that Mal was talking again.

"…realized he didn't have a leg to stand on, and that was that. So what about you?"

Just for a moment, her composure broke. "I honestly haven't been listening to you for the past ten minutes," she said dully.

Mal blinked, affronted, and she mentally kicked herself.

"Now listen here, young lady, I don't know what-"

But what Mal didn't know would have to wait. At that moment, a tall, dark-haired young man strode over to the table from the shadowy corner by the hors d'oeurves.

"Excuse me for presuming to address the loveliest flower in the room, miss, but I believe I've seen you somewhere before."

Wednesday turned in her seat, grateful for the interruption- until she got a good look at its author.

He stood about a head taller than her, she estimated; perhaps a bit less with high heels factored in. His dark eyes seemed to flash with barely-tamed passion as he gazed down at her, quite as if she were the only woman in the room. A few dark curls fell across his noble brow, escaping from their pomade and giving him a rakish air. The black tuxedo highlighted his lean but muscular physique, accented by a red cravat.

_He looks like every male cousin I've ever met._ Racking her brain, however, the young woman couldn't put any Addams' name to the face before her.

"You don't look familiar," she finally replied.

"But you do. Mademoiselle Wednesday Addams, are you not?"

The more he talked, the more a strange sense of deja-vu wormed its way into her mind. But he couldn't be anyone she'd met recently, because-

"Madame," she corrected, holding up her left hand to display the silver ring on her third finger. As it caught the light, the inscription on the band became clear. She didn't need to read it- it was so deeply ingrained into her mind as to be almost unconscious knowledge.

_Amor insequequo mors et deinde._

_Love until death and thereafter._

Lucas' ring bore the same motto- as far as she knew, all Addams wedding rings did. But from him, it had real weight. Goodness knew she pushed him to the brink of death time and again; he occasionally even managed to do the same to her. They were forever dancing on the edge, a fiery tango that came close to consuming both parties, but always managed to roar still higher instead.

"Until death and thereafter, my Diana," he often reminded her in their more intimate moments, "so do your worst."

_Speaking of tangos_…

Her thoughts took a decidedly pleasing direction as she imagined being held in Lucas' arms, hearing his breath catch and seeing the fire spark in his deceptively innocent hazel eyes. The dream-Lucas jerked her abruptly upright, and kissed her with almost infuriating tenderness as those beautiful, skilled hands-

"Madame- if that is really your title? Are you alright?"

_Damn. I've been fantasizing about my husband in front of a complete stranger again._

With difficulty, Wednesday forced her mind back to reality. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Strangely Familiar still stared down at her, his expression the picture of worshipful concern. And in that moment, the dots suddenly connected.

"No," she muttered under her breath. Could it really be? The man standing there looked nothing like she remembered, and yet…

Slowly she rose from her chair and took a step towards him, brow furrowed in disbelief.

"Joel Glicker?"

A slow, smouldering grin crept across his face. "Guilty as charged, _cara mia_."

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, silence stretched between them. The sounds of the party roared in her ears, reduced to unintelligible background noise.

"Excuse me?"

His smile faltered a bit. "Perhaps," he said carefully, "we should take this conversation to more private environs."

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><p>They rounded a corner, past one of the hallway's periodic silk begonias, and ducked into an alcove. Joel's newfound suavity, Wednesday noted with a hint of wry amusement, was somewhat lessened by the wall-mounted telephone poking into his back. He waved one hand at her with an irritating amount of casual languor.<p>

"Now, what were you saying, my dear?"

_Good god, did he even get vocal coaching?_ His low, smooth voice bore no trace of the nasal adolescent she'd known- and a more-than-slight British affectation.

"Funny. I was just about to ask you the same question," she growled.

"Pardon?"

"Back there. You called me 'cara mia.' What exactly are you playing at?"

He attempted to speak, but she raised her hand to silence him.

"I should warn you," she continued, "that it would be very, _very_ unwise to take this in a romantic direction. You never struck me as unwise, Joel. Was I wrong?"

Keeping her eyes on him, she began to discreetly feel for the slit in her skirt. She didn't want to stab him, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

At first, it seemed her veiled threats had hit home. He lowered his gaze to the floor and bit his lip, looking pensive and- dared she hope?- a bit chagrined. A bit of the old, terminally awkward Joel seemed to creep back across his face. She relaxed slightly.

And promptly regretted it as his head jerked up again, eyes aglow with excitement.

"Yes! My beloved flower of death, it has been too long since I heard your dulcet tones! Speak again, sweet angel of the night!"

With that, he grabbed her arm and began ardently kissing her hand. She managed to jerk it away after a moment's struggle and gaped at him.

"Joel, did you spend the last eight years reading a Harlequin romance novel? Can't you get it through your head that I'm married?"

He straightened his suit with a flourish.

"Married," he said, as though the word disgusted him.

Wednesday nodded, feeling for her knife in earnest.

"Married to some- some plebe who can never understand the darkness in your soul. Married to a pathetic, sniveling wimp. Married to a man so uninspired, so banal, so utterly…_normal_."

"No," he finally declared, "It cannot be. I refuse to accept this as your choice. The Wednesday I knew would have sent such a man from her presence weeping like the baby he was."

"Joel," she ground out, "it _is_ my choice. See this ring?" –she held up her left hand again- "It means I married him. And don't you dare judge him by appearances. Lucas Beineke understands darkness just fine- trust me."

He strode towards her, closing the space between them, and gazed at her with what was clearly supposed to be burning intensity. As it was, he just appeared to be suffering indigestion. The situation would have been comical…if he hadn't been so close that their faces were only inches apart.

"I have spent the years since our parting perfecting myself. I have been dedicated to removing every flaw in my character to be worthy of you when next we met. Every moment of my existence has been driven by the thought of seeing you again, and continuing our immortal romance," he murmured.

For a moment, the only sound in the telephone alcove was their breathing. Then, Wednesday spoke.

"Joel…" she began.

"Yes, ma fleur d'morte?" One arm snaked around her waist, tensing in preparation to pull her closer.

"You are, unequivocally, the most pathetic excuse for a human being I have ever had the misfortune to encounter."

Before the words had time to register, her knee connected with his crotch. Jerking from his grasp, she stalked back towards the ballroom. His groans of pain dimly registered through the angry pounding in her ears, and she felt a grim satisfaction.

_Who'd have thought he would grow up to be such a pompous bastard_?

* * *

><p>"What was that about, Wednesday?"<p>

"Nothing," she replied sweetly, settling back against the plastic chair and smiling at her father-in-law.

Mal's brow furrowed.

"I may have only known you for a year, but even I know that tone. It usually means someone's bleeding out in an alley somewhere. What did you do to that boy?"

She stared pointedly at the tea light flickering in its glass on the table. Finally, Mal threw up his hands.

"Alright, don't tell me. But so help me," he said, raising a warning finger, "if you pull any funny business behind Lucas' back, I'll-"

"Malcom, I love your son more than life, death, and whatever unholy state exists between," came the dry response.

"Right." The older man shifted his gaze to the couples on the dance floor. "Glad we cleared that up."

At that moment, a tall, tanned man in a blindingly white tuxedo wandered over and clapped a hand on Mal's shoulder.

"Malcom Beineke! You old son of a gun; how've you been?"

Mal stood and turned, smiling jovially at the newcomer. "Jim Kreuger, I thought you were around here somewhere! My son and I just had the pleasure of making your lovely wife's acquaintance."

"Ah, yes, my Amanda sure is something," Jim said, beaming. Wednesday had just enough time to wonder how one man could possibly have so many teeth before Mal pulled her to her feet.

"And speaking of nuptials, have you met Wednesday? She and Lucas were married last October," her father-in-law said. Something Lucas had mentioned earlier about showing her off set alarm bells ringing in the young woman's head. But she did her best to silence them and shook the proffered hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kreuger."

"Say, haven't you and Amanda met before?" the executive asked. His mouth kept smiling, but the eyes hinted that he knew more than he was letting on.

"We may have," she said noncommittally. "Attractive blonde women start to run together after a while."

Jim's smile became a bit puzzled. Sensing imminent damage to his reputation, Mal hastily suggested a sojourn to the punch table and led the younger man away before any clarifying questions could be asked.

Wednesday, once more alone, began to idly shred her paper napkin. As she slowly mangled the pattern of brightly-colored party hats and "Happy New Year!" proclamations, her thoughts turned to her absent husband.

_I wonder where he is. _

A work call, he'd said. Considering that "work call" usually meant "irate parent demanding to know why little Timmy hadn't made an A on his half-finished essay," the extended duration wasn't a surprise. All the same, she wished he'd get back. Inventing ways to reduce a boring party's venue to smouldering rubble was no fun without an audience.

And Joel. _That_ surprise had been one for the books. When she'd thought of him over the eight years since The Camp Incident, she'd guessed he was going about his life in a fairly normal way.

_Not pining for me and trying to win me by becoming- what? A clone of my father? A clone of my father with dialogue written by that asinine vampire author?_

She shook her head. It was no use trying to divine the motives of normal people; that was another reason she hated them almost to a one.

Well, almost. There was one in particular who she certainly didn't hate.

With a fond smirk, she pushed back her chair and stood. The party may have been boring enough that she was tempted to end it all with a shard of her champagne flute, but Wednesday was determined to have one dance with Lucas before making her escape.

After several minutes of wandering the halls and weaving between businessmen shouting into their cell phones, she finally heard his voice. A grateful sigh burst out of her, and she made a beeline for the sound. She reached the small, recessed alcove- and stopped dead.

There stood her husband, her Lucas, with Amanda Kreuger draped over him. One gloved hand was stroking his face, and the cascade of blonde hair hung over his shoulder like a bizarre shawl. And their lips were pressed together in a clear, if inelegant kiss.

Through the roaring silence that threatened to deafen her, Wednesday heard her purse hit the carpeted floor. Amanda and Lucas broke apart, turning to stare at her abruptly.

_Amanda. Lucas. Kiss. They- were-_

Her thoughts formed no coherent pattern, but she became vaguely aware that she was moving, and decided to obey her body's impulse.

_Get away. Any place where I didn't just see that._

* * *

><p>AN: If anyone can correct the Latin on the wedding ring, I'd be most appreciative. I used an online translator for the placeholder text that's there now, and we all know how reliable those are.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: [singing] I do not own the rights to/The Addams Family! *snap, snap*

* * *

><p><em>Game, set, and match.<em> This was one marriage that wouldn't survive the night.

Amanda raised her eyes to Lucas'. "Darling," she began tremulously, "I didn't think-"

"Shut up."

An appropriately hurt expression wasn't difficult for the blonde to manage. She pulled back slightly and tried again.

"This is for the best. We both know she could never understand you."

Lucas grabbed her arm and thrust her further from him.

"I believe I told you to _shut up_," he growled. He began to pace the alcove, running one shaky hand through his hair. Amanda, for her part, deemed it wisest to shrink into a corner and look as helpless as possible.

Finally, the young man sank to the floor. He sat there, back pressed against the wall, staring at the striped carpet but not really seeing it.

Emboldened by his silence, Mrs. Kreuger seized her chance. She tiptoed softly from her corner and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Lucas," she said, investing the word with as much tenderness as she could muster. "It never could have lasted. She's-"

"My wife."

Amanda sighed, a trace of exasperation slipping through her mask. "Deranged, violent, conniving, temperamental, unstable, and about as loving as a battleaxe."

"And my wife," Lucas said, looking up at her. "Do you get that? Is it making its way through your thick skull?"

Suddenly, he stood and began advancing on Amanda.

"Do you get that we dated for two years before I married her? Do you get that I went into it with my eyes open? Do you get that I know she wants to do all manner of unseemly things to me with a variety of lethal objects, and _I love her_? Do you get it? Or is your protective layer of self-absorbed idiocy too thick?"

She took one more step back and felt interestingly textured wallpaper against her shoulders. It became difficult to recall why this had seemed like a good idea, and she found herself wondering if homicidal tendencies could be sexually transmitted.

"L-Lucas," she stammered, "please, I don't know what came over me; I've just carried such a torch for so long and finally having you alone was just too much temptation."

Lucas gave a derisive snort. "Please. Did you rehearse that in front of the mirror in the ladies' room?"

"It's true! Remember those four amazing months back in eleventh grade?" she asked, trying her best to sound desperate and breathless.

"Four amazing months."

She managed a nervous giggle. "Yeah! Don't you remember when we dated?"

Her mark tilted his head to one side. "I remember four months when you were willing to give me the time of day," he said dryly. "And when we sat in the movie theater every Friday, holding hands- until you said mine was getting too sweaty. I remember you giving me a few kisses on the cheek, and one peck on the mouth the day before we broke up. Funny, nothing amazing that I recall."

_Uh-oh. Play this one carefully._

"Well, I…" she stalled, racking her brain for an appropriate response.

"I was afraid."

He raised one eyebrow, and echoed, "Afraid."

"Yes!" She seized on the idea. "Afraid of my real feelings for you. We came from two different worlds, and I was so wrapped up in what everyone else thought that I- I couldn't see what was right in front of me."

"Oh, Lucas," she continued, "through all the football players and surfers who pawed at me in the backseats of cars, I thought only of you. Seeing you again…it's like coming home."

No reply, but his face had taken on a pensive look. Amanda cautiously breathed a mental sigh of relief. So there was still a chance and she might live to see tomorrow. And who knew? Perhaps a suitably dramatic altercation with Jim was called for, once Lucas was safely in her grasp. He wouldn't make a bad husband- as soon as the divorce came through, he'd probably be agreeable enough. Certainly easier to dominate than corporate bigwig Jim Krueger.

"What about your husband?" Lucas asked, not much louder than a whisper.

She allowed herself a real smile. Everything was back in hand.

"He and his money can go to hell. I'm sick of being shown off like some- some _object. _I'll ask him for a divorce as soon as we get back to the party. And then we can be together, my Lucas."

Amanda raised a perfectly bronzed hand to his cheek…only to have it connect with thin air as he backed away. Her face became a picture of feminine confusion.

"What…?"

Lucas smiled wryly. "Who said anything about us being together? I just meant, what will your husband say when he hears you confessing love to another man?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangle of black plastic. Still smiling, he pressed a large button on its surface.

"…Seeing you again, it's like coming home."

She heard her own voice, tinny but clearly recognizable, coming from the device's speakers, and her jaw dropped. Her gaze flew back to him.

"B-but…"

"Only one marriage is getting ruined tonight, if I have anything to say about it," Lucas said, returning the tape recorder to his pocket, "and it's not mine. Goodbye, Amanda." He turned on his heel and began walking away.

"Lucas, wait!"

The near-scream made him stop and look back. Amanda stood there, hair disheveled, eyes wild, reaching out to him. The perfect vision of a woman driven mad by love.

"Please don't. I'm sorry. I'll do anything."

"Too late," he replied. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find my wife and try to set things right."

The blonde decided to play her last card. "She'll never listen."

"Maybe not. Maybe we're over for good. But let me tell you one thing, Amanda Krueger."

She waited with baited breath- it couldn't be anything good, but perhaps it'd be something she could use.

"If my marriage fails," he continued, "yours will go down with it."

His footsteps against the carpet grew distant, and she was alone.

* * *

><p><em>Amor insequequo mors et deinde.<em>

The words taunted Lucas from the silver band around his third finger. It gleamed in the light of the table lamp like an all-seeing, accusing eye.

"I've done nothing wrong," he told it, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Yes, talking to jewelry is clearly going to set things right. Well done, Lucas!_

As he'd expected, his wedding ring didn't answer. He sighed, staring at it. His thoughts strayed to the day it'd been put there.

Everything had gone wrong, starting with the ringbearer. Pugsley had come down with an unexpected cold and couldn't be trusted not to drip on everything, so Lucas had volunteered his cousin Josh. The 10-year-old had agreed only after being bribed with five dollars and the promise of getting to try out the bride's trebuchet.

Then the flower girl, a pretty, redheaded first-grader whose family lived down the street, had refused to participate. Several tense minutes' grilling had revealed that a crush on Pugsley was the only reason she'd agreed in the first place. But a replacement had been drummed up from the crowd of visiting Addamses, and all concerned had drawn a sigh of relief.

Prematurely, it turned out, because Morticia's sister managed to break her brother-in-law's ankle minutes before the ceremony. Between tearful apologies for her ill-timed Judo demonstration and Wednesday's insistence that the tradition of giving away the bride was demeaning anyway, Lucas had feared the whole event would fall apart.

He smiled involuntarily, remembering.

"…**just run off to New Orleans or something!"**

"**Wednesday, please. We can't; look how many people are out there!"**

**His bride-to-be gave a strangled cry of frustration. "I don't care! This is ridiculous!"**

"**Besides," she continued, crossing her arms, "Name one thing that's gone according to plan."**

**He took her hand and looked her in the eye.**

"**We're here, we're together, and we're about to get married. That's the only plan I care about."**

And in the end…well, the ring he was still staring at was proof that things had worked out.

For the fourth time in 30 minutes, he stood resolutely and strode over to the grayish double doors.

_I can do this._

He grasped the metal handle, turned it downwards…and let go, returning quickly to the safety of the overstuffed green chair across the lobby.

_Okay, maybe I can't. But what do I say? What can I say that'll make her listen?_

He was still deliberating when, five minutes later, he heard a distant door open and sounds of the party came pouring into the hall. The door shut again quickly, and footsteps padded across the carpeting. Lucas looked up and felt his throat close.

She was there, just yards away from him, standing beneath the restroom sign with a tall, dark-haired man he didn't recognize. It was now or never.

Gathering his courage, the young man stood and began to walk towards the pair. The effect was more like a man walking to the gallows. As he tried desperately to find the words he'd been practicing for almost an hour, faint strains of conversation reached his ears.

"…but this isn't really a surprise. I already said, he's not good for you- I'm just sorry something so horrible had to happen to make you see it."

"Joel-" Her tone was angry at first, but then softened.

"Maybe you're right."

Lucas' ire rose. How could she think that, let alone say it? Hadn't he promised to love her forever? Hadn't he been the best husband he could? Hadn't-

_Haven't I gotten caught with my lips on another woman?_ Fault or no, he had still failed her. And she deserved better.

Taking care to be as quiet as possible, he quickly slipped out the automatic doors into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: You know I don't own it. I know I don't own it. You and I both know that Charles Addams knows I don't own it. Everybody clear? Great. Let's get this train wreck back in motion.

* * *

><p>"I should probably get used to this," Wednesday said with a semi-hysterical chuckle. Joel discreetly tried to note possible escape routes, but stayed put for the moment.<p>

"What?" he asked.

"Him changing me. Every time I think I'm back on steady footing, he makes me feel something unfamiliar."

Her old friend smiled in a manner clearly intended to be reassuring and placed a hand on her arm. "You still look the same as always to me," he said warmly. "Well, not exactly the same- it _has_ been eight years, after all- but when you speak, I still hear the same Wednesday I met at Camp Chippewa."

She rolled her eyes and shook off his hand, looking away.

"Really? Then predict what I'm going to do next."

Joel smirked. "You're going to find that son of a bitch and make him pay for what he's done."

"And that's where you're wrong," she replied.

He stared at her openmouthed. "What?"

Wednesday suddenly found the carpet pattern intensely interesting, and began tracing it with the toe of her shoe.

"That's just it. I don't want to kill him. I don't even want to hurt him. God knows I should- if it was anyone else, I would be enacting his slow, painful demise right now. But it's Lucas, and I can't make myself even _want_ bloody revenge."

She took a deep breath and continued, "It's so pathetic. I don't want to kill him- I want to kill myself."

Before Joel could respond, the young woman doubled over with hysterical laughter, clutching her stomach with the force of it.

"Wednesday…?" he said, trying cautiously to see if she was alright.

"And look at me!" She jolted upright again, still giggling (or hiccupping; it was difficult to tell). "I'm actually sharing my feelings- with you, of all people! Joel Glicker, who was going to worship and adore me as his perfect ice queen forever. I must be disappointing you."

He ran a hand through his hair, unknowingly wrecking its careful disorder, as he groped for a response.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Wednesday. He's the only one who disappointed me, by proving himself unworthy of you. But then again, it wasn't really unexpected- I did try to tell you this relationship could only end in heartbreak."

As abruptly as it had started, her laughter stopped. She stood silently, gazing into space and seeming more like a statue than was logical. Her face became impassive, without a flicker of the earlier despair, confusion, or even hysteria.

Wednesday looked like Joel's memories, and he couldn't understand why this suddenly seemed like a bad thing.

"Never mind," she said, and turned to leave. With the unexplainable feeling that he'd broken something, Joel grabbed her arm.

"Wednesday, wait. I didn't mean-"

"Let me go, Joel." The lack of emotion in her voice was so familiar that those eight years seemed to vanish. Still not meeting his eyes, she pulled free of his grip and walked away.

* * *

><p>Wednesday Addams did not have these kinds of problems.<p>

She did not get her heart broken, because she never gave it away. She did not pine, or mope, or sigh over failed romances. She did not talk about her feelings. And, above all, she did not cry.

_Right. My vision's just blurred because of the wind out here._

"How did this happen?" the young woman muttered to herself, slumped against the brick wall of the Marriot. She'd fled the hotel after leaving Joel, hoping the night air would clear her head and make all these messy emotions settle down. Now, staring up at the orange-tinted sky, things almost seemed worse.

_If this was a romance novel_, a perverse part of her mind mused, _the sky would be like black velvet studded with a thousand diamond stars. And probably a full moon._ Novelists, it seemed, had never heard of things like ground light.

The breeze blew a few strands of dark hair into her eyes, and she absently pushed them back. How had this happened, indeed. When had it seemed like a good idea to give over her emotional wellbeing to another person? Why on earth had a stupid thing like falling in love happened to _her_?

Factually, it was easy enough to trace the current situation back to that day three years ago, under a huge oak in Central Park. Or two years ago, when the dreaded "l-word" had first been exchanged. Or last Halloween, at midnight, when Lucas had slipped the silver ring on her finger.

The whole thing, Wednesday decided, could be chalked up to a series of bad decisions on her part. She never should have followed where that boy- man- had led her. And now she saw the error of her ways and would- what?

_End the marriage? Walk up to him and say…say…_

Just thinking it made her throat close and the pricking in her eyes worsen. She mentally scolded herself for being such a coward.

_That's in the past now. Remember who you are. So you find him and say…_

"Lucasit'sover," she whispered quickly, her breath coming out in a puff of white. The young woman pulled her elbow-length cloak closer.

That wouldn't do. He had to hear her say it loud and clear; to know that she really meant it. One more try.

"Lucas, it's over."

There. If her husband didn't understand that, he was either deaf or stupid. And she knew quite well that he was neither of those things.

Wednesday stood there for several minutes, trying to muster her courage. Cars flashed by like blurs of light on the distant freeway, and she found herself suddenly longing to be in one of them.

_Going somewhere else. Chicago, Oregon…I hear the Bermuda Triangle's lovely this time of year. Or even back home._

It would be wonderful to wake up in her old bed, safe in the crumbling Addams mansion, facing no greater responsibilities than ensuring that Pugsley had a sufficient number of character-building "accidents." To discover that these past three years had been nothing but a dream, and she'd never even met Lucas Beineke-

_Damn_. The thought sent an unwelcome stab of pain through her, and she winced. The sooner this whole thing was behind her, the better. She had to find Lucas and break things off, _now_, before the evening had a chance to spiral farther down the drain.

_But first, a bit more practice_. There would only be one chance to get it right.

"Lucas, it's over."

The words came easily if she detached herself from them. They didn't mean she was walking away from her husband, leaving behind the one man who'd managed to stir her heart. They were just words.

"Lucas, it's over."

Three words. Three meaningless collections of syllables. She began heading toward the main doors.

_One more time. For practice's sake. Just words._

"Lucas, it's over."

A sudden, sharp intake of breath from nearby made her fall silent. She slowly walked the few steps to the source of the noise, and rounded the corner with a sickening suspicion as to what she'd find.

A suspicion that was confirmed as she almost collided with Lucas.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Apologies for the belated update; distractions happened (read: I discovered Jackie Hoffman's backstage vlogs from a year ago and got sucked in). But now, on with the show, since I left you all at such a cruel cliffhanger last time.

It was rather mean of me, wasn't it?

And it'd be even meaner if I dragged this intro out on purpose, just to keep you hanging that much longer.

So I really shouldn't do that.

Much.

(**Gleefully Wicked**, you don't think I'd give them an easy out like divorce, do you? ;D)

* * *

><p>"I can't honestly say this comes as a surprise."<p>

"I wish I could."

Husband and wife stood huddled in the nighttime chill, facing each other but looking at the pavement. The silence between them was almost tangible, like time itself was holding its breath to see who would speak first.

Wednesday swallowed hard and looked up, still not meeting Lucas' eyes. "I'm not technically allowed to divorce you."

"Oh?" he replied, for lack of anything better to say.

"No," she said. "Family tradition dictates that I slit your throat, cut out your heart, and burn it on a certain crypt in the cemetery."

"Really."

She nodded, her gaze still focused on the sidewalk. "It's what Addams women do to adulterous husbands. Traditionally."

"You-" he began, but she raised a hand to cut him off.

"I'm not going to do it."

"How gracious. But Wednes-"

"You're going to go back to Ohio and I'll tell my parents you jumped off a bridge. It will work if you stay away from Central Park for the rest of your life."

Staring at her now, Lucas tried again. "Listen, you should know-"

"This isn't out of any consideration for you. I just don't need the police attention- we're in a public place, after all," she interrupted again, speaking rapidly. "And I like this dress. Blood doesn't come easily out of satin, and black does show stains. Trust me, I know. So I suggest you-"

But now it was her turn to be abruptly silenced, as Lucas grabbed her shoulders and kissed her.

Wednesday had only a moment to be angry before the shifting pressure of his lips against hers obliterated conscious thought. A small part of her mind mumbled something about betrayal, rage, and family honor, but the remainder was fully dedicated to Lucas: his scent, his taste, the feeling that she couldn't get close enough to him fast enough.

_It's worse than I thought. I don't want to kill him, true- I don't even want to leave him. _

After a few moments, they broke apart; she looked at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Wednesday," he said slowly, "the only person with even the remotest thoughts of committing adultery tonight was Amanda. Please believe me."

His wife's expression hardened. "You kissed her. And she seemed very comfortable draped all over you."

"No." He shook his head. "_She_ kissed _me_. I barely had time to react, and then you came around the corner…"

The young man took Wednesday's hand and looked her intently in the eye.

"If you still want out, fine. I'll be on the first plane back to Ohio and you never have to see me again. But you have to believe me when I say that I would sooner die than even look at another woman- let alone one like Amanda Krueger."

That stupid breeze was making her vision blur again, but she couldn't blink now. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she managed to hold his gaze.

"Do you swear it?" she asked, her voice coming out rather rougher than intended.

"Wednesday Friday Addams," he replied, "I swear on my life and all I hold dear that I always have been, and always will be, faithful to you."

She was able to hold out about 30 seconds before pulling him closer by the tie and pressing her mouth once more to his.

* * *

><p>Surprisingly, it was Lucas who first thought of revenge.<p>

He had come up for air for the second time in the past ten heady minutes. The first time had been almost comically cut short by his wife's near-growl of frustration and insistent yank on his jacket lapels, forcing him to continue their previous activities.

_Speaking of jackets, I think this one's given up the ghost_, he thought with a touch of sadness. Indeed, some of the silver silk lining had been torn, and the whole garment was full of wrinkles that no amount of steaming was likely to remove. And he'd be lucky to ever find the bow tie again.

"We should probably get back to the party. Dad'll be wondering where we are."

Wednesday looked at him from where she stood against the red brick wall, a devious half-smile on her face.

"You know, Lucas, a little uncertainty is healthy in life. It keeps things interesting."

_Does it ever_, he thought, glancing at his wife. Even with her hair, dress, and makeup disheveled, she still looked like trouble in human form- a bomb waiting to explode. And it was that thought that planted the idea of vengeance in his mind.

"You know," he said slowly, "Amanda really did wrong you tonight. She wronged both of us, in fact."

The young woman nodded, looking as if he'd just told her the sky was black and starry.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you believed in 'an eye for an eye.'"

He could practically see realization coming over her; it was a wonderful thing to watch. Her dark eyes almost seemed to glow, lit with a spark that promised immolation to anyone standing too close.

Knowing Wednesday, said immolation would probably be literal.

She straightened, finger-combing her hair back into some semblance of order, and walked- no, _stalked_- over to him. Lucas suddenly found himself a bit worried for Amanda.

"Poor Lucas," she purred, "always one step behind."

From her handbag, she produced what appeared to be a small, black walkie-talkie. Several unlabeled white buttons dotted its surface, dwarfed by a large, red one. She casually ran one black-gloved finger over the red button.

"Do you know what this is, Lucas?"

"No," he replied, "but I'd be fascinated to find out."

Her smile widened; in his experience, that was never a good sign.

"This is a remote control. What does it control, you're about to ask? Land mines."

His surprise must have shown on his face, because she gave a dry chuckle.

"Land mines," she said, "Which are currently in place under the Kruegers' white stretch limousine, over in the parking lot. When the clock strikes 2012…"

She raised one eyebrow.

"Bang."

-  
>AN: I have no idea what land mine remotes look like, so please forgive any inaccuracies.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Well, here we go, folks. The shocking conclusion of ALS. But first, some review responses.

**Gleefully Wicked**, I was actually aiming for a characterization between Christina's and Krysta's versions of Wednesday- good to know I pulled it off. The appearance is all Krysta, though, in case you were wondering.

**Becc-gallanter**, the timing of the author alert made me unreasonably happy. Thanks for sharing that story!

I still don't own any of the characters except Jim.

* * *

><p>Jim Krueger was beginning to think that something was wrong with his wife.<p>

Usually, Amanda was upbeat and perky, always smiling or chatting animatedly with those around her. The life of the party, surrounded by a crowd of admirers. It was part of the reason he'd married her.

_Among other things_, he admitted to himself, letting his eyes run surreptitiously over her figure. That pink dress clung in all the right places; he was sure taking it off would be quite the adventure.

But tonight, something was amiss. She stood silently beside him, apparently lost in thought. Now and then, a frown- horror of horrors- even crossed her face. Worst of all, she hadn't said a word to him in hours.

With what passed for stealth in his mind, the businessman leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Baby," he murmured, tucking back a loose strand of blonde hair, "I want you so much right now." His smile rose…

…and fell as she turned away, crossing her arms with a heavy sigh.

_But that always works!_

There was no longer any question about it. His wife was in a Mood.

Jim adjusted his bow tie and tried a different tack. "Amanda, dear," he said, "I've been thinking about it, and that ball you want to throw next month seems like a great idea. You can get that guy from LA to coordinate everything."

"Thanks, Jim," she replied, but even he could tell her heart wasn't in it. That uncharacteristic crease remained between her perfectly shaped eyebrows, and every so often she muttered something he couldn't hear under her breath.

Clearly stronger measures were called for.

"I'm taking you to Tiffany's tomorrow. Anything you want. How's that sound, Cupcake?"

His only reward was a tight, patently false smile before Amanda became wrapped in her thoughts again.

_What can possibly be wrong?_ he wondered. Here she was, the most beautiful woman at the party, in a dress that had cost thousands of dollars and jewelry that had cost thousands more, with a massive house, a full staff, vacation homes in California, Rome, and Aspen, a huge white limousine- and him. What was there to sulk about?

Patience finally lost, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"Amanda," he said quietly, "I know something's wrong. You've been in some kind of snit for the past hour or so. But I don't know what it is unless you tell me, and if I don't know what it is, I can't fix it. So spill."

The irritation vanished from her face with gratifying speed, replaced by shock and- was that a hint of worry in her eyes? But a tired smile wiped it away before Jim could be sure of what he'd seen.

"Oh, Jim, honey," the young woman sighed, "it's just that this party's so _big_."

She gestured to the crowd around them. "There are so many people here I don't know- I'm still just a simple Connecticut girl at heart. It's just _overwhelming_."

The big, blue puppy eyes met his, and he fell hook, line, and sinker. Edging closer, she snuggled against his side.

"I'm tired, Peaches. Can we go home now?" A devious light entered her eyes, and she stood on tiptoe to reach his ear.

"Once I've rested a bit, we can-"

The rest of her sentence was so quiet that Jim could barely hear it. But judging by the hungry expression on his face, he understood the general idea. He began to trail one hand along his wife's bare shoulder.

"You know, Cupcake, I think I could use some…rest…too."

The older man leaned in for a kiss, but Amanda held up one beringed hand between them.

"Baby, not in public," she said with an exaggeratedly innocent smile. "Wait until we're alone."

Jim smirked and ran a hand through his scanty hair. "As you wish, princess. I'll call Tom; have him bring the car around."

"I'll wait out front," she cooed, planting a dry kiss on his cheek and patting his hand. Then, with the clicking of high heels on the polished floor, she was gone.

"Woof," Jim muttered to himself. He began to fumble with his cell phone.

_What's taking him so long_?

This was completely unacceptable. Amanda had been waiting for ten whole minutes in front of the hotel, shivering in the January chill. Once again, Jim had proved that his lone skill as a husband was failure to deliver.

_Guess I won't be doing that thing he likes tonight,_ she thought with a mental sigh of relief. The real trick to that particular conjugal act was hiding the disgust Jim's body engendered. The one problem with marrying a 65-year-old millionaire was having to deal with your husband.

She pulled her mink stole closer and caught sight of her watch. 11:59. And it looked as if she'd be ringing in 2012 in front of this damn Marriot, rather than with a glass of champagne and Tyson the pool boy as previously planned.

The situation, Amanda decided, couldn't get any worse.

At that moment, Jim came rushing out the front door, his breath coming in gasps. She had just enough time to fix an expression of concerned surprise on her face as he mopped his brow.

"Tom…quit…at a bar…completely hammered," he managed.

"What?" Amanda fought to keep the anger out of her voice. "Then how are we supposed to get home?"

Jim held up a hand and she turned away, tapping one pink shoe impatiently. At last, he caught his breath enough to answer.

"I'll drive. It'll be difficult, but I think I remember how."

Amanda threw up her hands, giving up all pretenses. "Well, let's get going, then," she grumbled, and began trudging towards the parking lot.

Then, several things happened at once.

Jim shouted for Amanda to wait. The gold Rolex on her wrist struck midnight. She tripped over the hem of her dress and went sprawling, managing to catch herself on her hands and avoid any major injuries.

And, some yards away, the beautiful, white Mercedes stretch limousine exploded.

The fireworks display in the nearby park had already begun, so the sound of the car's combustion went unnoticed by the guests inside. A huge, red cloud ballooned into the air; Amanda felt the heat against her face. What felt like a gust of wind blew past her, and a scorched, once-white hood landed on the pavement a few feet away. Shrapnel rained down on the other cars, scraping and denting a few and causing several alarms to begin blaring.

When the world around her finally registered again, Amanda realized that someone was crying behind her. She stood shakily and, turning around, realized it was Jim. The CEO stood sobbing like a baby, swiping ineffectually at his red face with a sodden handkerchief.

She looked around, trying to find some element to her surroundings that would make sense of it all- and then, from the shadows on the other side of the hotel, just such an element appeared.

No one else would have seen anything suspicious in the young woman standing there. She was fairly attractive, with short, black hair and dark eyes. The black dress was perhaps a touch too severe for her pale skin, but that was the only thing about her that was even moderately strange…to the average observer.

But Amanda felt twelve all over again as a slow, satisfied smile crept across the woman's face. Behind her, a young man in a tuxedo was just visible in a pool of lamplight. He waved, gesturing pointedly at Amanda with what appeared to be a handheld audio recorder.

And then, pausing only to share a single kiss, the couple vanished into the night.

* * *

><p>AN: There you go, mesdames and messieurs. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thank you for sticking around this long, and to all my reviewers.

But wait! I have a request for all of you. If you liked this or my other WxL stuff, go forth and write your own. This fandom- TAF in general and the musical in particular- needs more love. And how do fandoms get love? By growing, and thus attracting more fans. :)


	9. Epilogue

**A/N:** Wow. It's been well over a year since this fic started, and a lot of things have happened. To quote one of my other stories, good, bad, and just plain crazy. But mostly it's been a good year; I hope it's treated all of you well, too. So here's one last chapter before I set this story aside for good.

This is a partial Christmas gift for Ellie, who didn't get me into this fandom but did keep me in it. Seems appropriate, since without TAFM we wouldn't have met.

* * *

><p>"We don't have to do this."<p>

"I'm not backing out now."

"No, really. We can turn around right now and go home. Say one of us got sick or something."

"I'm not going to-"

"It's not far from the truth."

"Lucas!"

It was an ordinary- if rather large –house, in an ordinary upscale suburb. The white lights that glittered up and down the quiet street were nowhere to be found on the manicured shrubs by the steps, but a modest wreath on the door was a nod to the season. And standing in front of the door, with snow quietly falling around them, the couple looked like a fairly ordinary husband and wife.

Except for the exasperated look on the young woman's unusually pale face. With a slight groan, she turned to face her husband.

"It's been months since you've seen your father," she said. "In that time, he's called twice, sent you ten emails, and a card on every conceivable holiday for which cards are sent. There's something he wants badly to tell you, and he won't leave us alone until it gets said."

"So," she continued, pushing a few snow-flecked strands of hair out of her face, "we're going in there."

Lucas sighed. "Di, you shouldn't be standing out here in the cold. It's not good for-"

"-the baby?" she finished, and placed a hand on her protuberant stomach. A wry, joyless smile crossed her face.

"This baby is an Addams, Lucas, or at least half of one. It would take more than snow to hurt it- from outside my body and two layers of clothing. Besides, the problem could easily be solved if we _went inside_."

And with that, she approached the door and pressed the bell next to it. A chime echoed from inside the house, and Lucas grimaced. He closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm. "Listen," he said hurriedly, "I know what Dad was trying to tell me. He remarried about nine months ago, just after the divorce came through."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"No," he continued, "you don't understand."

But before any more could be said, high heels clicked against hardwood inside the house. A lock clicked back, and the door swung open. Standing in the foyer was a young, blonde woman in a white blouse and pink skirt, smiling almost _too _cheerfully. A smile that morphed into shock as she took in the couple standing on the porch.

"Wednesday?"

"Amanda?" But rather than being shocked, Wednesday had to fight to stifle laughter.

As her old nemesis backed into the hallway and the Addams-Beinekes entered, the brightly-lit foyer revealed what the porch light hadn't- a pronounced bulge in Amanda's midsection. Wednesday's teeth dug into her lower lip, but she couldn't keep a small snort from escaping.

"Hello, Amanda," Lucas said wearily, helping his wife remove her coat. "You look…um…"

The blonde gave a patently false giggle and touched her stomach. "Don't feel bad; you'd have to be blind not to notice. I'm seven months along."

"Do you know the gender?" he asked, trying to be polite.

"Gender_s_." Despite clear efforts to keep the smile up, her eyes looked slightly crazed. "Twins. A boy and a girl."

Wednesday hung her coat on a hall tree and turned back to the other woman, with a large and patently false grin. "How _wonderful_. Have you picked names?"

As she'd expected, Amanda's gaze had found her own round stomach. The sparkling blue eyes widened in obvious horror.

"I…you're…"

"Tiffany," came a voice from the living room beyond the foyer. "Tiffany and Justin." Mal strode into view, wearing a full suit and tie and generally looking more fit for a business meeting than New Year's Eve with his son and daughter-in-law. He, too, noticed Wednesday's obvious pregnancy, but managed to conceal any trace of surprise. He walked straight to Lucas and clapped the young man on the shoulder.

"Happy New Year, son," the older man said. There was a moment's silence, then, in a quieter tone- "You didn't tell me you'd gotten her pregnant."

Wednesday stopped looking at the glittery blue garlands hanging from the molding and cleared her throat pointedly. Mal glanced at Amanda, who hesitated before smiling determinedly and taking her arch-enemy's arm.

"Here, let me show you the Christmas tree," she said, more loudly than was strictly necessary.

As she allowed herself to be shepherded into the living room, Wednesday overheard Lucas saying, "Dad, she's my _wife_…"

The Christmas tree was, indeed, worth showing off: a massive Douglas fir hung with lights and glass baubles in a way so "Better Homes And Gardens" that it could only have been decorated by a professional. And the presents still underneath, wrapped in modestly glittery paper, all were the exact size and shape of Kleenex boxes.

It was a far cry, she found herself thinking, from the one in her own house. That one was fake, to avoid any unfortunate accidents involving her younger brothers and fire; the ornaments were mostly glass balls that Alice had painted in her spare time, with a few Addams heirlooms that had been Christmas gifts. Of course, those were largely broken…

"So." Amanda interrupted her thoughts. "Who's the father?"

"…what?"

She tossed her long, blonde hair and sat down on the gray leather sofa. "Come on. You don't honestly think I believe you're in love with Lucas, do you?"

"Of course not," Wednesday retorted sarcastically. "I normally almost kill people for trying to destroy my relationships with men I don't love."

The trophy wife rolled her eyes. "God, you don't have to get all pissy. Whatever. If you love that loser, it's your bad taste."

"Yours, too."

"I am not in love with him!" She was sitting bolt upright now- or at least as upright as her stomach would allow.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "You seemed to want him badly enough a year ago."

For a moment, it seemed like Amanda would go for her throat. Instead, she stood and began pacing the room.

"No, I didn't. I've never wanted him, not even when we were dating. He was a boy, and boys fawned over me- it's just what they did! If he hadn't, that would have been…I don't know, against the laws of nature."

"Wow, you're modest as well as beautiful and intelligent," the other woman interjected. Amanda ignored her.

"And then he broke up with me, which was fine, but he wasn't supposed to date outside our group. He especially wasn't supposed to leave me for…_you_." The last word was so disgusted that Wednesday, who was used to insults, felt something snap inside her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She rounded on Amanda so quickly that the latter stumbled back a few steps, bumping into the rosewood coffee table. But the blonde beauty queen recovered quickly.

"It means that you're a freak," she hissed. "And you don't deserve to have a nice, normal guy like Lucas in your life."

In an instant, Wednesday was standing beside her. Quietly, she said, "If he's so normal, why did her marry me? Think about that."

A commotion in the foyer caught both women's attention; they looked up in time to see Lucas storm into the living room with Mal in hot pursuit.

"…didn't say that; I just said-"

"Dad, shut up!"

That was new. Wednesday mentally revised her thoughts on Lucas' opinion of his father from "moderate dislike" to "extreme dislike." As he approached her, he kept talking to Mal over his shoulder.

"It's a girl, okay? We're having a daughter- a _human_ daughter. As far as I know, she won't have fangs, claws, tentacles, or any more limbs than is usual. And you know what?"

He paused, breathing hard. Wednesday looked from father to son, having some difficulty processing what Lucas was saying- but not at all surprise at what it implied.

"Even if she did," her husband finished, "we wouldn't give a damn."

"Di," he said, turning to her, "are you ready to go?"

Slowly, she looked at Mal. The contractor's face went noticeably white.

"Yes. I can think of at least a dozen better places to spend New Year's Eve."

On her way out of the room, she shot Amanda one last, plastic smile.

"By the way, Amanda, you never did tell me- who _is_ the father?" And as she and Lucas entered the foyer, she could swear she heard a, "What's she talking about?" in the whispers from the living room behind them.

They stepped out into the night. The snow had stopped, and stars glinted overhead like diamonds in black velvet. The moon, full and bright, turned the fresh snow a pale shade of purple. As they reached the car, Wednesday looked her husband in the eye.

"Lucas?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me something, for the sake of our unborn child."

"Sure. Anything."

"Promise me-" She paused, taking his face in her hands and kissing him with unusual tenderness.

He smiled, but looked slightly confused. "What was that for?"

"I love you, Mercury, but promise me we'll never take our kids to visit them."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And there it is. The real, absolute, final ending of Auld Lang Syne. Happy holidays, everyone!


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